One of the greatest tragedies during the horrific persecutions launched against the Church after the control of the atheist authorities was the general trial, in 1922, of Metropolitan Benjamin of Petrograd and a group of clergy and laity (about 100 people) who allied with him, among whom was the senior priest, Mikhail Sheltsov. He was sentenced to death with ten others. He was exempted from that, but he returned and received the crown of martyrdom later, as he was executed before dawn on Christmas (January 7) in the year 1931.
May 27, 1870 Father Michael was born in Ryazan, and was the son of the village priest. After graduating from the Kazan Theological Academy, he taught for a period in Kaluga before moving with his family in 1898 to the capital in order to defend his thesis, entitled “The Church of the Arab Monarchy.” He worked for three years in the mission to Dioosam and another three years in the office of the council agent. In the fall of 1903, Father Michael was appointed by the church to the Center for Civil Engineers, where he also taught theology, a subject loved by everyone because of his convincing and sensual explanations. He was a frequent speaker at church meetings and an author of various articles, pamphlets, and books.
In 1920, Father Michael was appointed again to Ijmailousky Trinity Cathedral, where he served for five years. In 1919, he was chosen as a representative of the Diocesan Council and remained in this position until his final arrest. He was suspended for this position and was one of many who were accused of being counter-revolutionaries because they resisted the confiscation of the Church's valuables, a process invented by the Bolsheviks in order to intimidate the faithful and suppress the Russian clergy. After the trial, Father Michael was taken with others to a correctional facility (that is, the prisoner in reality), where he was placed in a cell with an inmate, Archimandrite Sergius Chassi. A few days later, they were transferred to a prison on Spalerna Street, where they were placed in a narrow and isolated place awaiting instructions from Moscow, where a sentence against them in absentia was reviewed.
Father Michael lived a full forty days in this prison. His memories of this torture are considered a terrifying historical file. These memories, like many of their counterparts, reveal and describe the Red Terror, but they are distinguished by their blatant frankness. They are closer to confessions, the confessions of a priest preparing himself spiritually for persecution. Michael did not portray himself as a brave and virtuous martyr. On the contrary, he wrote about the collapse of resolve, fear and hope that he would be spared this terrible fate. In the face of death, he found it impossible to remain silent about his doubts, which were also supposed to be erased from his consciousness so that he could bear his cross and stand on the path of martyrdom with an enlightened spirit and a firm stance in the face of his experiences.
Father Michael writes: At about three o’clock in the afternoon, after we had been given something to eat, the door to our cells suddenly opened and one of the prison directors entered. Directing his remarks to Father Sergius and me, he said: “Gather your belongings.” “In half an hour you will be transferred to Spalerna.” Why? How does this happen? For any reason? There were no answers. We are completely confused. But we began to console ourselves with many guesses, as happens with someone who lives in desperate circumstances and wants to find positive explanations for everything. We thought the death sentence had been postponed, otherwise why would they transfer us there? The prisoners are taken from here to the execution field. Then a thought came: Maybe this talk about transferring us to Spalerna is simply to calm us down. Maybe in fact, we are being led to execution! But time runs against this conclusion: it is the middle of the day, and the prisoners are taken to execution at night.
We quickly gathered our things. We distributed the extra food we were given to the prisoners in need, and we began to wait. Then, without any expectation, Father Sergius turned to me: “We still really know where they are going to take us. We also don't know what's in store? What will happen to us? So would you please introduce me?” I removed the priestly cross from around my neck and placed it on the window sill, as if on a dais, and I placed a towel around my neck, with its end hanging on my chest as if it were a tarsal, and I began confession, recalling the relevant prayers from memory. Father Sergius confessed sincerely, warmly and with tears. It was his last confession on earth. Then I asked him to introduce me. We confessed and cried as we were, without confusion.
Soon the prison director himself came and asked us to follow him. In the corridor we met Father L. Pogobavlansky, who was also transferred to another place. Then we were led out to the back entrance where we were greeted by the two soldiers who would take us. We crossed the square and then, eight people, were crammed into a limousine. It was so narrow that Father Pogopavlansky had to crouch down on his heels and lean on us. One of the accompanying soldiers sat near the driver. Another sat with us across from me.
I kept my eyes on the window the whole way, hoping to see a familiar face, but I didn't see anyone. Father Sergius presented to all of us, even to the guard, some fresh strawberries that he had gotten that day, which broke the veil and opened a space for dialogue with the guard. When the latter rejected the strawberry, Father Sergius commented that it was not poisonous. After everything that happened, we didn't even think about death. When we asked why we were being transferred to Spalerma, he answered with some caution that it was his own opinion that we should have been spared from Moscow. But since Facility No. 1 was crowded, as they had brought some thieves for trial, we were transferred. There in Spalerna, he continued, we will find it much calmer. He was certainly right, there was no place quieter than Spalerma, it was like a grave. All the way I was busy thinking that maybe we were not being taken to Spalerma...and when we arrived at the destination, my mind calmed down.
At Spalerma, the usual prison procedures were followed, and we were taken first to the office and then taken down a long underground corridor. “Well,” I thought, “they'll put us somewhere down there.” It has been said that, in such pitch darkness, and in such dungeons, unwanted scum people are locked away. We walked in silence. The silence was heavy, except for the deep thump of our footsteps. We didn't see any human face, even the guards were hidden away somewhere.
We reached a wall and started climbing a narrow spiral staircase with successive narrow spaces. We climbed higher and higher. This means I won't be planting in a damp basement. We went up to the fourth floor. Also, an annoying thought crept into my head. Here, without a doubt, the cells are designated for prisoners based on the seriousness of their crime. This is what the system looked like in Facility No. 3. The worst (or most dangerous) prisoners were sent to the higher floors. We, the class of inmates of death, will after all be closer to the heavens, where we shall sooner go (the heavens of which we should think most often). In prisons, I preferred the upper floors, there was more air and light, one could see the sky better and felt less self-confident.
The eight of us from Facility No. 1 were distributed on several floors in separate cells, not close together, and thus we would not benefit from communication with each other, with the exception of Yalashish and Ozhnev, undoubtedly for unforeseen necessities, and sometimes physical ones, who were placed in two cells next to each other. But they discovered this in the end and did not benefit from it. Yalashish, Ognev, Kiva Sharer, and I were placed on the fourth floor, while Father Sergius, Pogopavlansky, and Shukov were taken to the third. While Novitsky was sent to the second floor, where there were two bishops. Of course, we knew nothing at the time about this arrangement, but we learned about it later when we arrived at Facility 2.
I was taken to a cell. I didn't know what the cell number was. It was a cell like the rest, about seven feet wide and the same in length. To the left of the door, there was an iron bed nailed to the wall, with a worn cover that at one time contained straw but now preserved a few of its remains... Opposite the bed near the other wall there was a small square metal table with a chair of the same make, which was also nailed to the wall. Behind the table in the corner near the window was the toilet, along with a sink with a jug of water on it... Next to the door, there were two hangings and a small shelf on the wall.
On the first day we were under constant surveillance. It was the normal policy followed, for fear that we would commit suicide, or communicate with our neighbor, or even that we would run away, or that we would receive special treatment, I cannot say for sure. At first, the frequent clacking of the door opening made me nervous and make me anxious and afraid of anything, but I became accustomed to it and rarely noticed it anymore. Additionally, I was thinking what information this type of surveillance would have provided to the authorities. All the prisoners did was pray and walk around their cells.
I will never forget the feast of Saint Sergius (July 5). She had fallen asleep at the usual time the night before. It was a long time when I couldn't sleep. For some reason, my heart was heavy. Suddenly, I heard a bell ringing. And again...what does this mean? From where does he come? Why at such a late hour? (It was eleven or twelve) Then she remembered: Tomorrow is the feast of Saint Sergius of Radonezh, and they were ringing in the nearby Cathedral of Saint Sergius, which was celebrating the feast of its patron saint. The bells called the faithful to a night prayer service. I felt depressed: There is freedom, they celebrate Eid. Believers go to church to pray, while I am here closed, deprived of participation in worship and Holy Communion. I remembered that before my imprisonment, I had thought about going to the Monastery of Saint Sergius on this day, and I was overcome by an intense desire to pray. I got up and performed a service for the saint. Then she lay down and quickly fell asleep.
The morning passed as usual, according to prison routine. But around a quarter past twelve, the hatch in my door opened and the guard on duty handed me a small package wrapped in a red handkerchief and whispered anxiously, “Take it quickly.” It appears that it is the holy body. Be careful not to let it fall from you. I took it with dignity and lowered it, trembling. In the handkerchief was a small gilded box in which were the Holy Body and Blood of the Savior from the Mass in the cathedral. I cut myself a piece, then wrapped the box again and waited for someone to come and take it.
Within half an hour, two women whom I had never seen before came, accompanied by the inspector who had previously sympathized with us and who had been assigned to work on another floor several days ago. The two women wanted to take the box, but the inspector reminded them that women were not supposed to touch the sacred body, so he took it himself, and I watched them go down the stairs. My cell number 182 was located directly opposite the stairs.
I was left with the holy body. But what to do? Should I eat it all right now? But I wasn't ready, I had finished eating. So I decided to wait until the next day. But will I be alive? I decided to place the holy body wrapped in a clean piece of paper in a secret place. If they came at night to take me to the firing range, I would eat it immediately. If not, the portion I had would be enough for four or six days.
I was filled with joy because of this unexpected gift. Until that day, I was worried about the possibility of being executed by firing squad without participating in the holy sacraments. I confessed to Father Sergius in the correctional facility before we were transferred to Spalerma, but that was about two months ago, but I have not eaten since I was free. Suddenly the sacraments were sent to me. I was very happy and in a joyful mood. This was an obvious gift from Saint Sergius. However, conflicting and far from happy thoughts soon began to appear. I began to think: Why did they send the Holy Body now? (I did not know at the time, of course, that he had been sent at the request of Metropolitan Benjamin and the prison authorities.) Perhaps those outside knew of our bad fate in Moscow, and they sent the Quds as our last provision. In the end, exactly two weeks have passed. But if that was the case, why was the Holy Body sent to everyone? Surely not everyone was sentenced to death? This is more serious than in Moscow, where five out of eleven are executed. Prosecutor Sternov himself said that our case is less serious than in Moscow. Is the end of our case now more tragic? Probably. This means that the Holy Body was not sent to prepare us for execution. But maybe that's exactly why he was sent. I couldn't figure it all out. An internal conflict broke out between... (Page 6)
That night I waited anxiously, and I spent it in the same state expecting that, at any moment, the door would open and I would be taken somewhere far away. The next night passed and I had the same thoughts. The turmoil did not come from the fear of death, but rather from the certain certainty that I would die by execution, with the accompanying shame in a humiliating way. There was a lot of it at the trial. It is to be expected, and no less so, before an execution. But participating in the holy secrets gave me great strength and made me accept death with peace. I was about to die, but I would die with Christ after partaking of His body and blood.
I partook of the Holy Body for the next five days, which gave me a little comfort and joy. A typical day at Spalerma went according to the following routine: At seven or eight o'clock I would rise and carefully read all the morning prayers and the canon of the saint of the day according to the weekly cycle. This takes about an hour. Then I would pace up and down the room, lie down, and read the Bible or John Chrysostom. At noon there is lunch and tea. Then I also lie down, walk around, read the sweet rule of Jesus, and after a short time I recite the rule of praise of the Mother of God. At five o'clock I have dinner and tea, then I read the Act of Penance to the Savior and the Act of Intercession to the Mother of God, and after a short rest I say the evening prayers. On the evening of the holidays, I used to perform the vigil service before the evening prayers, and in the morning the Divine Liturgy. Sometimes I would sing all the hymns I could remember while walking around the cellar.
Overall, I enjoyed spiritual peace after a time of focused prayer. I would often experience long periods of excessive spiritual activity, as I would rise above every earthly matter, that is, of this world, and completely abandon myself before the will of God.
It seems that I have gone into detail in describing the external affairs of my life in Spalerma. It remains for us to touch on what is more important: the state of the soul, that is, the internal life. She was subject to one thing, as if a nail were piercing the head or as if there were excruciating pain in the heart. The question is: Will I be executed or not? This question was constantly present and tormenting. No matter what I did or occupied myself with, he constantly tortured me. And I mean the word torture me. I used to start reading the Bible, but it confused me in a way that prevented me from understanding what I was reading. I could not read Chrysostom for a long time. Only his letters to Olympia managed to attract my attention a little. Even in this, I would read two or three lines, and I would not understand what I was reading again because I surrendered to the same harsh thoughts. I was reading without understanding.
Only when I was praying was I able to forget myself. It happens that you feel broken, overwhelmed by an endless depression that you cannot explain. You will begin to pray, and you will feel that despite this, unseen forces are dragging you away and a sharp reluctance to pray takes hold of you. You will utter the words but your head will be maddeningly crushed and there will be no peace in your heart. You will read and not understand: you will read the same words of the prayer a second and a third time, and in the end - as you force yourself in this way - you will be freed from the one who is tormenting you, peace will come to your soul, and you will end the prayer in a calm and even joyful mood, because you have found a solution to this question and you will be ready, even at that moment, to confront it. death. Only in prison did I experience contentment, true peace, and joy in and from prayer.
